


Four In the Morning

by gala_apples



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M, Relationship Advice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-29
Updated: 2012-11-29
Packaged: 2017-11-19 20:02:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/577118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five conversations Patrick didn’t need to have at four am (which seems to be the only time Pete can have conversations).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four In the Morning

Sometimes Patrick likes to think about what a tour would be like without cellphones. It can’t be impossible. Everyone around him would claim it is, but it can’t be. KISS didn’t have cellphones. Queen didn’t have cellphones. Prince didn’t have cellphones. 

He doesn’t think about it a lot. He’s not really into sci-fi. He doesn’t see the sense in building up a beautiful utopia when it only makes him yearn for things that will never happen. And the idea of people in the music industry, or _any_ industry not automatically using any technology available is definitely a concept only to be found in fiction. You get bored though, busing everywhere for shows. At certain points everyone ends up on their bed, thinking the only activity left to them.

Eyes burning from being on the laptop six hours straight, Patrick decides it’s time to go to bed. Andy is long conked out. He’s always been the one with healthy routines. He powers the laptop down and puts it on the couch in the lounge. There’s more room to get undressed there, he strips to his boxers before padding back to the bunks. 

Approximately twenty minutes later, after he’s had his good night wank and is comfortable in his sleeping position of on his stomach, right foot under his left knee, his phone rings. Patrick doesn’t have to look at the screen to know who it is. This late it can only be one person.

“Tell me about the best diner you ever went to.”

Tell Me About is a game they played more in the van, all four of them squished between boxes of merch. It doesn’t mean Patrick’s forgotten how to play. He thinks for a second then starts a story. He can’t actually remember the best meal he’s ever had at a diner. Pete doesn’t care if he lies though, or at least he never calls him on it. It’s possible Pete doesn’t know Patrick is lying, though he doubts it. Pete’s got a pretty good bullshit meter.

Pete interrupts halfway through a tale of all you can eat ice cream floats. Patrick’s not surprised. The words aren’t that shocking either. “I like him.”

“I know.”

“What do I do?”

“You just. Pete, just like him. You can’t stop it, don’t hurt yourself trying to.”

***

It’s about the thirtieth time Patrick’s seen Jackass: The Movie this tour. There’s no telling how many times he’s seen it since it came out in 2002. Joe and Pete are still laughing like it’s all brand new. Patrick would laugh, but he’s exhausted and has been listening with his eyes closed for the last ten minutes.

He wakes up to someone kicking him in the thigh. He has this theory, and opening his eyes proves him right. “What?”

“Don’t fake angry. You fell asleep on someone else’s bus at ten pm, you can’t possibly expect an uninterrupted sleep.”

“What,” he repeats. Bold statement or not, Pete’s sleeping issues are bad enough that he naps when he can, and he generally lets others do the same. To wake him up Pete must want something.

“How do you do anal?”

He rubs his eyes with the heel of his palm, then twists his wrist to check the time. It’s too late to have this conversation. Not that there’s really a good time for it. “Seriously?”

“It’s not like we have cable to watch Sue Johanson’s Sunday Night Sex Show for me to learn tips.”

Patrick considers the movie menu still playing six hours later, and riffs off that instead of getting dangerously into the conversation. “Well, you don’t put a toy car in a condom and put it up your ass.”

“No, seriously. Come on, didn’t you ever plow Anna? I asked Joe about Marie, but he wouldn’t tell me.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Maybe that’s why she cheated on you. Maybe she really wanted it, and the other guy-”

“One more word Pete. One more.”

Pete looks at him earnestly, which is a sure sign Patrick’s going to want to hang himself. “It’s just. The concept seems a lot easier than the actual doing, you know? Like, I don’t get how people actually want to be fucked in the ass. It doesn’t make sense. Like, I get that there’s a prostate, but you have to wade through shit to get there, don’t you? I-”

“Pete. One more word and I’m asking the driver to pull over and let me off. I’ll hitchhike to the next venue, I swear.”

“Fine. If I figure it out I’ll let you know.”

“Pete-”

“Fine, fine! Really done now. Don’t hitch, Lunchbox, someone will kidnap you. The fans would freak.”

***

Patrick looks at the lyrics of yet another song Pete wants for Infinity On High. Everyone in the room is aware this is going to be a break up album, that much was made clear within the first three songs. But there’s a difference between lines like _Things aren't the same anymore, Some nights it gets so bad that I almost pick up the phone_ and _Pretty boy in too tight jeans, Sorry I couldn’t slide them down_. The former will probably get on the album, because it’s relatable. The latter was thrown into the no pile, because they’d rather avoid getting on Perez Hilton.

Joe and Andy are looking at him expectantly as he reads. Patrick shakes his head and their postures change; Andy tensing up for battle, Joe slouching with exhaustion from repetition. As for Patrick, he adjusts his hat and faces the possible fire that might come with rejecting Pete. “This is blatantly about you not being able to be fucked in the ass. I’m not singing this.”

“It’s an expression of my feelings, Patrick.” Apparently the mood of tonight is crushed and emotional, instead of enraged and emotional, or enthusiastic and emotional, or most dangerous of the bunch, a calm facade. Pete and calm facades end with parking lots.

“It has a line about strawberry kiwi Wet.” Joe snorts. Patrick scowls. Easy for him, he wouldn’t have to sing it.

“I’ll never be able to eat strawberries again without mourning.”

Patrick’s been trying to stay calm. He gets it. Break ups suck. Especially when in hindsight they seem like they’re for stupid reasons. Pete is enough drama and emotion for all of them. But he’s never been the calmest Stump in the family, and Pete called this hotel room meeting just before he was going to shower. He smells like chlorine and flipflops, and Pete is an melodramatic asshole. “Oh my fucking god. Just stop. Joe, make him stop. Get high with him so he stops.”

“Me and Mikey used to get high.”

“Then write a song about that. Without pronouns. Or something. This one isn’t gonna work, sorry if you think it’s a masterpiece. I’m going back to my room now.”

***

**hey**

Patrick looks in dismay at the instant messenger flashing at him. He remembers logging out, but apparently that was a different night, because there's no questioning the orange blinking. He can't do it now; Pete will know he's trying to ignore him. Pete doesn't take being ignored well. If Patrick denies him IMing he'll start the rounds of texting and calling. Those will be harder to ignore.

With a sigh he pulls his hand out of his boxers and types **hi**

**whatr you doin**

He _was_ enjoying the video he downloaded. Now he's talking to an asshole.

**nothing. you?**

**shoppin**

Patrick waits, expecting a barrage of links. He half considers putting his pants back on, but it's not like there's anyone in his house besides him to care.

**whats yur fav sex toy store?**

It sucks that it isn't a list of links. Patrick knows how to reply to a list of links. **huh?**

**sex toys. vibes nd clamps and stuff**

Patrick supposes he shouldn't be so gobsmacked. You don't have to be a woman to like vibrators. He's had a girlfriend use one on him in the past, it felt really nice against his balls. He doesn't own any himself, but there's no reason Pete shouldn't.

**babeland?**

**thx**

Patrick waits, not willing to turn his vid back on. The second he does, Pete will interrupt him.

**i think this http://store.babeland.com/butt-plugs/pop-butt-plugs**

Patrick clicks on the link, only looking as far as to make sure it’s not a random combination of letters that leads to goatse or tubgirl. Pete has shown him them about a dozen times, but they never get less disgusting.

**wtf**

**its called anal trainging. i found this thing oline, gimme a sec**

Patrick logs off as it says at the bottom of the chat box that Pete’s typing. He doesn’t want to know. He’ll just have to turn his phone off for a bit.

***

“I just had sex.”

Patrick doesn’t bother to look at the alarm clock beside him. Whatever time it says will only make him crankier.

The sun isn’t up, which means it’s earlier than he’d hoped. He could have just had an early day if it was eight. But pre-dawn means he’ll crash after Pete hangs up, nap for the rest of the morning, and then be fucked for the whole day.

“Why are you telling me this? I didn’t want to hear about your fangirls when I was an Arma fanboy, and I don’t want to hear now.”

“I didn’t fuck a fangirl. It’s not-”

“You said you had sex.”

“Good job, you were listening. I did.”

“I don’t want to hear about Gabe buying you a inflatable sheep either.”

“Patrick, I just had sex with Mikey.”

“Which Mike?”

“Who the fuck do you think?”

Patrick doesn’t point out he can think of at least ten Michaels they both know. He’s too tired, and Pete wouldn’t listen to logic anyway. Besides, saying that is only delaying the inevitable. Pete won’t hang up until he tells Patrick about the miracle of lovemaking, Patrick knows that. He pulls the blanket over an exposed shoulder and settles in for the TMI.


End file.
